


the scars that we're made of

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Battle Couple, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order, references to future character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24682273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: The Ninth Sister falls on the battlefield, and the Second rushes to her rescue.
Relationships: Trilla Suduri | Second Sister/Masana Tide | Ninth Sister
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Little Black Dress Madness 2020





	the scars that we're made of

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster) in the [lbdmadness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/lbdmadness2020) collection. 



The Second Sister hurled the Ninth for about three metres before her knees buckled under the weight. Even with the Force ebbing and pulsing around them, she was just too large for the Second Sister's comparatively delicate frame. The Dowutin had the audacity to laugh, even as she sagged against the wall, bloodied spittle frothing at the upturned corners of her lips. Once she was sure they were not in immediate danger, the Second Sister squeezed her eyes shut behind her sleek, black mask, and meditated. She felt her connection to the Ninth Sister through the Force, like a thick, red cord, and focused on that to silence the sounds of the ongoing skirmish, to disperse the twin scents of blood and shit.

 _Now_ she could concentrate on the matter at hand.

The blood in the Ninth Sister's mouth was the result of nothing more sinister than a broken tooth and a bitten tongue, so she ignored that for now and scanned the rest of her body for damage. Dowutin skin was tough, and difficult to penetrate with traditional weaponry.

"Ninth," she said, her voice slicing through the atmosphere of the battlefield like a knife, slick with blood. Whoever did this would pay _dearly._ "Unless you can tell me where I need to be looking, I need to see _through your eyes_."

"Eye," she corrected with a croak. Ever the comedian. The Second Sister took it as permission, flexing her fingers as she pushed her consciousness up against the Ninth Sister's. It was a trick she'd taught her, having used the Force to detect others' emotions when she'd been a Jedi. The Empire twisted it, of course, like they did everything else. But they hadn't found a way to take _away_ their memories - not yet. She encountered no resistance, no mental barriers. So absolute was the trust between them.

" _Masana,_ stay with me." She felt them both flinch moments after saying it, with the intense sensation of having broken some unspoken taboo. When the Second Sister recentered herself and found the cause of the sharp pain that had forced the Ninth Sister to her knees, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Tenderly, she placed a hand on the Ninth Sister's cybernetic leg, and wished there was a way to heal a wound that was no more, but left a pain that would last forever. A large hand covered hers with a light gentleness that she'd found surprising the first time they touched. Now it was only familiar and comfortable. The Ninth Sister's lip curled.

"You scare easily. Understandable though. You humans are so _squishy._ " She gave the Second Sister's gloved hand a soft squeeze for emphasis, as a low, rumbling chuckle escaped her lips.

"You're the one fainting like a damsel in distress," she snapped, though they both knew there was no real bite behind the words. She lifted the Ninth Sister's giant knuckles and kissed them - once for luck, which she didn't believe in, and once more because she felt like it. "Now, get back out there."

"Yes, Ma'am," she said, giving a mock salute with the hand that wasn't being held by the Second Sister. Then, more somber, "Thank you, for not forgetting."

"Forgetting?"

"My _name_ , Trilla." Her right eye was red and watery. "My name." Still hand in hand, they resumed the mantles of Second and Ninth Sister as they walked back out into the chaos of the battlefield. Months later, beneath the sprawling branches of the Origin Tree on Kashyyyk, Trilla would scream until she was hoarse:

_Her name was Masana Tide._


End file.
